Aurora Roarers scream at the Skylark

The last time I saw the Aurora Roarers, it was well past midnight in a coffee pot in Tacoma, playing to a crowd of eight. The Aurora Roarers were not happy about this; the tambourine player, in particular, was livid. They had good reason. Over the course of the evening, the room had swelled to capacity and then ebbed, leaving only the owlish members of the opening bands, their dates, and the lone, hairy bartender to heat the place. As bar time wound towards two, certain members of those bands got called out, dates found themselves surreptitiously fondled, drinks imbibed, and all the while the Aurora Roarers did what they came to do: kick ass.

Tightly wrapped riffs, knocking rhythms, and a giant of a bass player, The Aurora Roarers are the greatest garage band ever. This might not, I suppose, be true. There could be a better garage band, still playing the basements and backyards of house parties, one too wild for the harsh confines of the stage, too pure to care what a part-time critic like myself has to say anyway, so let’s make it official with a caveat or two to weed out the argumentative: The Aurora Roarers are the greatest garage band currently performing in the Northwest.

And they’re playing a fantastic room: The Skylark is one of a handful of spaces around the city where the dual purposes of entertainment and food aren’t dueling; where it makes sense for you to eat a burger while some brash upstart (or, in this case, an old, knowing hand) whittles your face into elaborate scrollwork with the jagged blade of a melodic line. This is a good thing. Honestly, I don’t know how you can’t be there, and, yet, I hope you’re not: I know for a fact they’re fantastic when no one’s around.